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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965820">The Hermit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuumizoomies/pseuds/yuumizoomies'>yuumizoomies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>League of Legends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Tarot, Zine piece, the hermit - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:48:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuumizoomies/pseuds/yuumizoomies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul-searching, introspection, being alone, inner guidance</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Yasuo &amp; Yone (League of Legends)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Hermit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wrote this piece for a Zine yet released (?) called the League of Legends Tarot Zine. Hosted by rosymiz.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The nights that blanket Ionia do not spare a weary traveler. Yasuo knows this, but still he continues with heavy feet across the beaten path. His destination is but a few mocking paces onward, in a direction he feels he’s wandered now for centuries. He hasn’t stopped for anyone, not even to rest himself, determination his only drive to reach the brook he finally can hear trickling over stones. Lantern swaying with each step, it lights his way until he sees the rotting birch of a once familiar bridge. Oriental braids that criss-cross the planks are overgrown with moss and dusted black with age, causing a memory to stir. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smell of freshly bloomed lotus rises to his nose, children’s laughter, a reassuring pat that ghosts against a shoulder. Ghoulish, it disappears as quickly as it comes, and Yasuo’s somber honey eyes find themselves staring helplessly past the gnarled wood, into the bubbles below. With only the dull glow of the ignited oil dangling from his knuckles, all Yasuo can see is the darkened black ink of night in the water's reflection. This place, it’s sacred, and it carries a heaviness that Yasuo has not wanted to face in a very long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unsure of himself, he places one foot forward, then the next, until the weight of his body is pressing down on the weathered planks with a creak. The cool surface brings him to swallow thickly, closing his eyes, tightening his grip around the light. All of this place, the misery that he has buried, and one that he must face. With conviction, he takes another few steps until he’s reached the crest, where the years have taken their toll on the structure. Pieces have fallen, partially submerged in the shallows below, covered by lily pads that bespeckle the stream hither and yon. Yasuo shines his lantern forward to gaze upon the broken pieces, unsettled. He closes his eyes again, inhaling deeply, before slowly coming to his knees, lantern placed by his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bitter revenants of rice wine plague his tongue rather than the apologies he wishes to speak when he kneels, and his brows knit in an effort to keep himself from wailing out a hollow prayer beneath the empty canopies. He brings his hands to his knees, bows his head, and listens. He can faintly remember the sound of Yone’s voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> It brings him back to that summer, midday, in the heat of the Ionian sun.  Beside his brother, whose broad shoulders heave with the sigh that emits from his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please, Yasuo, you mustn’t pass on this opportunity.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yasuo cannot bring his eyes to meet Yone. They stay planted on the young creatures that have emerged from the crystal spring and hopped onto the pads.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Elders,” Yone continues, “They -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They see something in me.” Yasuo completes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are foolish not to accept Souma’s offer. You -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have to change my mind by morning?” Yasuo turns, completing the sentence, holding out his hand expectantly. Yone only stares back, a ghost of his memory. His brother’s eyes stare through him. Sadly, Yasuo realizes, this is just a dream, all but a reverie of the past. He can feel the bitterness rise in his throat like bile, shoving his hand forward for the maple seed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“I wish I could. I wish I could have never gone up those steps, to Souma. I wish I had never been his pupil, learned these ancient ways, I wish I never went looking for Noxians. I wish so much, Yone. ” His words, they’re slurred and taking on venom, his extended fingers curling into a fist. “But above all else, I wish I had never killed you.</span> <span>I wish these trials -” he presses his hands to his chest, “</span><em><span>All these trials</span></em><span>, they… I wish they were over…” Yasuo searches Yone’s face for something. Anything. There is no response. His brother remains a hologram of his thoughts. He sighs, bringing his arms to his side, holding his ground. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did not come back to this place,” He begins again, voice cracking, “Not to talk to a memory of you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memory falters and the light from the sun subsides. Beside him, his lantern shines anew. A celestial cast that catches his eye briefly before it dwindles out and he feels a gust of wind that ruffles his tousled hair. On the breeze, he hears a familiar voice, and the warmth of his brother’s hand on his shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Then what did you come here for? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking skyward, Yasuo can feel his heartache. He misses Taliyah, her naivety had given him purpose. In her, somehow, Yasuo had found himself. Their nights where Yasuo taught her what Souma had taught him, where Yasuo felt as though he had been forgiven for his misdeeds, were the nights he’d decided to return to these places. She gave him the courage he needed, had given him answers to questions he’d avoided asking. Now, her silhouette where she wished him farewell haunts him just like the rest of those he’d abandoned, leaving him alone with no more easy answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” He finally breathes. “I came here to forget.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he’s done too much forgetting. Behind the haze of his gourd, shrouded in saké, weak to his own misconduct. He has wallowed in the past so much that even places like this are too heavy to revisit, he thought himself much stronger than this. How could he ever face his village again if the soul of Yone still wandering their childhood bridge is enough to remind him of his vulnerability? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts to weep, dropping his head, gnashing the apples of his fingertips against his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have been so foolish...” His shoulders sag as he raises his head to meet the ghosts of his past. To go back in time, he knows, is simple because of the losses gathered. Every detail of Yone, his peers, his mother, Souma, they all burn and dissolve in front of him, breaking off like graveyard structures, as he envisions them all swept away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gathering himself, Yasuo inhales again, bringing his fingers back to drape over his knees. On the soft wisp of the night that rustles through the branches, he can hear each whisper. All the souls he’s laid to rest, all of those he will inevitably meet again someday. He only stands later on to relight his lanter and hold it out in front of him. There, before him on the broken wood of the bridge, sits a maple seed. In the back of his sobering mind, he can hear Yone’s young voice again, placing that honor  in the palm of his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you’ll choose the right path, Yasuo. </span>
  </em>
</p>
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